Barn Raising
by Twinings
Summary: Obligatory Christmas fic. Shut up and read it. -CAT-


_Disclaimer: If I owned Gotham City or anything in it, you wouldn't be reading this here._

_I wrote this about two and a half years ago, and have simply been waiting to post it at the opportune moment. It takes place in Arc 7, December of CATverse year 2016. If we could keep our files straight, I could tell you for sure, but I think it comes after BiteMeTechie's "Payback" and before...um...something...else. I'll get back to you on that._

_Christmas Eve Gift!_

* * *

Barn Raising

It's always a shame to have to watch one's home burn to the ground. The memories, the history…all the books go up as nothing more than kindling.

And in a place inhabited by Jonathan Crane and his three minions, there was practically nothing _but_ books.

The four of them, along with little Kitten, stood on the street, watching it burn. As usual, with these confirmed lunatics, an outside observer would have had no way of knowing what they were thinking as they stared into the flames. They might have been regretting everything they had lost, and wondering where they were going to live now. They might have been thankful that they had all made it out alive and only slightly scorched. They might have been entranced by the dancing flames.

In fact, what they were thinking was this:

Techie: _Damn it! Damn Firefly! Damn Batman! Damn weak roof! Can't a girl even take a shower in peace?_ And she finished putting on her socks and shoes.

Al: _Kirena hi…_ Having been tapped to hold Techie's coat while her friend finished dressing, she didn't even notice when it was taken out of her hand.

Jonathan: _My work…It'll take months to catch up…Three new test subjects brought in for nothing…Why is it always fire?_

Captain: _I hope Gar's not dead in there. Maybe I should have stayed to help him. He hit that wall pretty hard._ Actually, hard wasn't the word for it. Thanks to a malfunctioning jetpack, he and Batman had fallen through the roof into the Captain's bedroom and gone crashing through her wall, into the bathroom and out the other side.

It had been a surprise to everyone, including Kitten, whose one and only thought was, _Cold! Bad!_

And she sure was screaming, even though her mother had her wrapped in a couple of sweaters and was holding her close to her chest.

"Can't you shut her up?" Jonathan snapped. The Captain glared at him.

"No, I can't shut her up, unless you want me to try breastfeeding her right here in the middle of the street."

It was a good thing he didn't have heat vision. She would have been missing a head.

"We should probably go," Techie said, hoping to diffuse the tension before they started squabbling in earnest.

"Go where? Last time the Captain stayed with a friend…"

"Shut up, Number One." Kitten kept squalling.

"Just get in the van, all of you," Jonathan sighed.

"But, Firefly…"

"Set the lair on fire," he reminded her. "_And_ led Batman right to us. We need to _go_."

"Oh, fine. But if he's dead, you're coming with me to the funeral."

-*-

They had no backup lairs waiting for them in the city. Even if they had, there was no telling what Batman might know about. The Captain was absolutely unwilling to do anything that might result in her Kitten being taken away. She knew, without a doubt, that no judge in his right mind would leave an innocent baby to be raised by the Scarecrow and his Arkham-escaped accomplices.

So Jonathan drove them out of the city, west, into farm country.

It was not a comfortable ride. Kitten calmed down once the heat kicked in and she got her lunch. But no one else was happy. By now, they were beginning to think of everything they owned that had just gone up in smoke. That, or wondering where they were going to sleep at night.

Not that they did sleep at night, for the most part. But that wasn't the point.

"Do you think Batman will follow, now that he's seen us?" asked Al.

"We've been so quiet lately…I was sort of hoping he might have forgotten all about us by now. Out of sight, out of mind," Techie said. Jonathan shook his head.

"More likely he expects I've been planning something big. Autumn always was my busiest time; I've never let the whole season slip by like this before." The look he gave the Captain in the rearview mirror was downright vicious, as if it were her fault that he hadn't blown a hole through Hudson University or had himself proclaimed God of Fear.

"Excuse me for having ovaries," she muttered. He kept his eyes on the road, wary of the falling snow, but from what she could see, he was ready to reach back and snap her neck. She reached over to stroke Kitten's fuzzy head. The contented infant ignored everything around her, sleeping soundly in her car seat.

"How much farther, Squishy?" asked Al.

"Ten minutes," he answered shortly, still irritated by that nickname.

"Good. I need a restroom."

The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. He said nothing.

-*-

The land had been good once, before Gotham Township became a sprawling metropolis poisoning the air, land, and water all around it. There had been a hundred thriving farms as recently as fifty years ago, each dying off one by one until there was hardly one left still lived in and producing.

This particular farm had burned. Fire, fire, always fire. The house was gone, and the fields were now overgrown with weeds. Only the old barn was left standing, and it didn't look too secure.

Al glared at Jonathan.

"You've got to be shittin' me."

"It's not permanent," he said. "Whiner."

"Squishykins, have I ever mentioned how creepy it is when you pick up speech patterns from us?" He just smirked. "Oh. Of course you know that. Jerk."

"Will you just open the door so I can park inside?" She hesitated.

"Are you going to run me over?"

"Do I _look_ like I want to run you over?"

"Yes."

He had to concede the point.

"Well, I promise I won't do it _this_ time."

"Okay." She got out and heaved the old door open, and he drove the van—slowly—into the barn.

It wasn't exactly homey. The floor was just bare earth, the roof half gone, the walls full of holes that let in a little sunlight and a lot of snow. There were a few old farm tools left lying around, so rusted they would never be usable again, and a bit of hay, rotted and not worth using as bedding.

It was cold and generally unpleasant, and not much shelter from the weather. But, like the man said, it was only temporary.

The Captain started laughing suddenly. Jonathan glared at her.

"_What_?"

"How long are we going to stay here?"

"Not more than a day or two. _Why_?"

"So we won't be here for Christmas?" She giggled, then set her face in her most solemn expression. "Please, sir. My wife is with child, and there's no room at the inn. Don't you have anywhere for us to sleep tonight?"

The girls burst into a rousing rendition of "Away in a Manger" while Jonathan muttered something equating Kitten to the Antichrist.

At that word, the baby smiled. All three women went silent.

"Squishy," the Captain whispered. "Do you know what you just did?"

"Came too close to the truth for the little imp's comfort?" he suggested as he slammed the car door.

"No, you idiot! You made my baby _smile_!"

"I—I did not."

"What's this, then?" She chased after him, holding Kitten up for him to see as he backed away. Al giggled.

"Figures her first smile would be for 'antichrist.'"

"I'll have you know that was _not_ her first smile," Jonathan snapped. "The brat smiled this morning when I g—" He broke off suddenly, clamping his teeth shut on the words. The Captain's eyes narrowed.

"When you _gave_?" she prompted. He shook his head.

"Nothing."

"What did you _give_ her? A hug?"

Kitten reached out to him, gurgling nonsense. He recoiled as if from a deadly poison.

"Certainly not!"

"What, then?"

He glared at the baby.

"Pie."

"You gave my baby _pie_?"

"Only a little," he said defensively. The Captain laughed.

"No wonder she loves you best."

"I want pie," Al put in. Jonathan turned to her eagerly, looking for a change of subject.

"Go get some!" He gave her a push toward the exit.

"Hey! Why me?"

"Which one of us do you think they'll be looking for?" he snapped.

"Oh, fine, Admiral Logic. Give me the keys."

"No," he smirked. "The van is far too recognizable. You're walking."

"I'm _what_?"

"It's only five or six miles."

Techie and the Captain tried not to call attention to themselves by giggling too loudly.

"I'm not that hungry," Al decided.

"But, Al, I want a sandwich," he mocked. She sighed deeply.

"Son of a…do we have any money?"

"No."

"A gun?"

"No."

"Can I borrow some fear toxin?"

"No."

"You suck."

"You're insufferable."

She smiled.

"I'll get you a doughnut."

-*-

True to her word, Al returned several hours later with a bag of groceries and a box of relatively hot doughnuts. They all tore into the doughnuts, ignoring everything else.

The temperature had dropped so low that none of them could help shivering, all huddled together and still aching with cold. Jonathan had stopped trying to escape their embrace an hour ago; for once, warmth and cuddling was preferable to the alternative. Even if Al _did_ keep trying to stick her icy hands into his pockets.

Once the doughnuts were polished off, however, the inevitable question of sleeping arrangements came up.

"There are blankets in the van and hay on the floor. You're living in the lap of luxury here, so whatever you're about to say, _don't_."

All three of them thought it. And since Al, still pissed off from being made to hitchhike, was in no mood to offer, Techie spoke up instead.

"Squishy, would you like to go for a roll in ze hay?"

They all giggled as he wormed his way out of the tangle of bodies and mumbled, "I'm sleeping in the car."

"Take the baby," the Captain suggested. "Let her sleep in the car seat. Make sure she's nice and warm, and give her a goodnight kiss. I'll come get her if she starts crying."

He gave the sleeping infant a look of intense disgust, and refused to take her.

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because she loves you so much," the Captain said sweetly.

"It's not my fault the child doesn't know any better. She also loves strained beets."

"Squishy, she's not even supposed to be eating solid food. Now, take her and tuck her in."

With a low growl, he took the baby in his arms. She sighed and clutched his finger in her little fist. He did his best to maintain a threatening scowl. She yawned.

"Was there anything _else_ you wanted, or can I be on my way?"

The girls grinned.

"We love you, Squishy."

"Oh…shut up and get some sleep."

-*-

There weren't enough blankets for all of them; all they had in the van were what they had used to soak up the blood the night they met a certain would-be copycat who needed to be taught a lesson. The brown stains weren't going to do much to inspire pleasant dreams, but it was better than nothing. After making sure the baby was snug in her seat and tossing something out for the girls to use, Jonathan wrapped the last blanket around himself, locked the doors, and tried to stretch out across the seat.

It wasn't long enough to fit him, but a few minutes of tossing and turning reminded him that staying curled up would be warmer, anyway. The sleeping arrangements might not be comfortable, but he'd had worse. He could get some rest.

And so he did, for nearly two hours. Then Kitten woke to find herself cold, wet, and hungry, and screamed her displeasure to the world.

Jonathan groped for a nonexistent snooze button. He found nothing. Kitten continued to scream. He sat up.

"What do you want from me, brat?"

She kicked energetically. Reluctantly, he took her out of the car seat and held her. She quieted, but didn't stop crying altogether.

"What do you want? Bottle? Fresh diaper? I'm not changing you."

She wailed. With a sigh, he took a peek inside her diaper to see just how bad it was.

"Fine. Just this once. But don't think this means anything." It was just that he didn't want her leaking on him.

Fortunately, the Captain had a habit of stashing extras of anything she could possibly need in random places, and then forgetting they were there. He found diapers and an empty bottle in the glove compartment. Wonderful. He moved the car seat to the driver's side, spread the Captain's sweater across the passenger's seat, and laid Kitten on top of it to change her.

She squirmed and wailed more loudly when his cold fingers touched her skin.

"Deal with it, brat. I'm not any happier than you are."

She kept screaming just to show him that she disagreed.

Jonathan managed to get the diaper taped up; it wasn't as neat as the old one had been, and something about the shape didn't look right, but at least she was covered. He fastened the snaps of her little long johns while she did her level best to kick him in the teeth.

Unsure what to do with the wet diaper, he just opened the car door and tossed it as far out of the way as he could. Kitten wailed anew when the colder air hit her. Jonathan picked her up.

"Just shut up for a minute. Have I ever told you how much I _loathe_ children?" He conveniently ignored the fact that any outside observer might have thought he was cuddling the crying infant like some kind of fond papa.

At least the girls weren't awake to see him thus tamed. They were all sound asleep, snuggled up together under one blanket on a bed of old hay. He moved past them, to the bag of groceries that Al had brought back.

With his limited knowledge of a three-month-old's dietary needs, he was relieved to find something with the word "milk" on the box, even if it was only the Captain's soymilk. It had to be _close_ to what the baby needed, didn't it?

She took one sip, made a face, and started crying again.

"Oh, what _now_?"

He tucked the bottle inside his coat to warm it up a little, and started pacing around the floor, hoping that the movement would shut her up. She was still fussy, but at least the screaming had stopped, and she wasn't likely to wake up the others.

"You are a rotten, rotten little child, and I wish I had some way to be rid of you once and for all." At the sound of his voice, she went quiet. "Do you want a story? Is that it? All right, I'll tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a little brat named Kitten who made life endlessly difficult for her Uncle Jonathan. He didn't like her one bit, but he put up with her because her mother and aunts were so attached to her. There's no accounting for taste, I guess." Driven by an incomprehensible impulse, he tickled her stomach. She waved a tiny hand at him.

Jonathan stopped pacing long enough to try again with the bottle. This time, she took it.

"Good girl."

Behind him, unobserved, the Captain looked up at him through her eyelashes and smiled.

"You were so thirsty," he crooned as she chugged the soymilk. Then he cleared his throat and said gruffly, "Little glutton." When she stopped to gasp for breath, he took the bottle away and resumed storytelling.

This time, he gave her a real story, the only one he could think of that seemed remotely appropriate.

"The Whos down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot. But the Grinch, who lived just north of Whoville, did not."

Delightedly, she patted his arm with both hands. He kept on, fudging a few lines when his memory failed him. It wasn't as if she would ever know the difference. He even hummed a bit of the Grinch song, although singing to her was where he drew the line. Within a minute or two, she was shaking her head slowly back and forth the way she always did when she was sleepy, and her big blue eyes were starting to close. He smiled at her.

"And they say his small heart grew three sizes that day. He would never tell anyone that, because Grinches like to keep their secrets. But maybe, just maybe, they were right."

She was asleep. He finally took his attention away from her, and froze in mid-step.

All three of the girls were sitting up, watching him with knowing smiles.

"How much of that did you hear?" he asked.

"Just enough to remember how adorable you are." He glared at them.

"Go back to sleep."

"Will you sit with us for a minute?" asked the Captain. "I want to hold the baby for a little while."

"Oh, sure, now that she's stopped whining." He sat down gingerly on the very edge of their personal area and handed Kitten to her mother. Al moved closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder.

"It's so cold," she whispered. He jerked away.

"You're not cold. You _never_ get cold."

"Well, _you_ do, Mr. I-Don't-Want-Your-Sandwich. You have no insulation. Besides, in case you haven't noticed, it's snowing. I _am_ cold." She butted his shoulder with her forehead.

He let her curl up against his side again. It seemed easier than fighting, and he couldn't deny that the warmth she was radiating made everything seem a bit more bearable. He didn't even protest when the Captain attached herself to his other side and Techie circled around behind him.

They ended up lying down in one big tangle of limbs, using each other as pillows. He fell asleep with his head on Techie's legs, with Al snoring on his shoulder, the Captain's head on his stomach and her knee pressed against his cheek, and Kitten across his chest, clutching a little fistful of Al's hair.

And once he got into that position, it didn't seem like such a bad way to sleep at all. The last thing he heard was someone humming "Silent Night" very softly into the dark.

He had to remind himself that it wasn't going to be like this when they went back to Gotham.

Then he closed his eyes and proceeded to have a very pleasant dream.

_He could still feel his girls,  
Though he'd blocked out the sight.  
Merry Christmas to all...  
And to all a good night._

***


End file.
